


It'll Be Alright

by neveralarch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's sophomore year of college for a bunch of Derek's formerly teenage friends, it's spring break, Derek's in heat, and everything is pretty great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It'll Be Alright

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize for all the pairing tags. Also keep in mind that there are ships within ships.
> 
> While 'in heat' tends to be a dubcon trope at best, I wrote it as more of a libido variation here and I think all of the sex reads as consensual. (One character does have sex after drinking a little.) Let me know if you need further details before reading.

Derek and Scott still aren't on the best terms when Scott leaves for college, but Scott feels like they're close enough for a brohug. Plus, Derek makes the _best_ face when Scott turns a solemn handshake into a hug.

"You know you can count on us while we're at school, right?" says Scott. He feels like he can speak for Allison and Stiles, and Lydia wouldn't want to be left out. Jackson, who knows, but Derek probably has a better handle on the Jackson situation than Scott does.

Derek does not look like he has a handle on the hugging situation. He's still making a weird face.

"Just," Scott tries, "just, like, call or something. We're friends now, right? And friends are not the enemy."

Derek rolls his eyes at Scott and mutters "obviously" under his breath. Fine, okay. Scott gives up on offering the shaky branch of 'Allison and I will totally come home and bail you out if you need us to,' and pats Derek on the back instead.

Derek makes the face _again_. Scott thinks about taking a photo with his phone, but it might ruin the moment.

(He gets lots of other chances, over the next two years. Derek never stops acting surprised when Scott hugs him, but he never acts like it's a bad thing either, so Scott figures he's golden. He will teach Derek the awesome ways of non-threatening physical contact by senior year, definitely.)

\---

"Why don't you have a girlfriend?" asks Lydia, the summer between freshman and sophomore years. She's taken research back with her from MIT, and she's doing them in the Pack den so that she won't have to deal with her mother. Harassing Derek Hale seems like a good study break, since he's so convenient.

Derek doesn't respond, too busy doing pushups. Lydia raises an eyebrow.

"Is it your tragic past?" asks Lydia.

Derek manages to give her the finger while still doing pushups on the other arm. Lydia has to admit that it's impressive.

"You know-" begins Lydia, but Derek sighs and cuts her off.

"Why don't _you_ have a girlfriend?" he asks.

"I have Jackson," says Lydia.

"Why?" says Derek. Lydia looks down at her scribbled calculations, the ones that weren't working until she took them out of the computer and put them down on paper.

"Touché," she says. "None of my business, right?"

Derek switches arms.

\---

"Do you even _have_ a libido?" asks Stiles. He's not sure how he got to this point, why an argument about dating without Pack approval turned into this.

It is the winter of sophomore year, Stiles broke up with Alex two weeks ago anyway, and Derek is scowling at him.

"Sometimes," says Derek.

"Who only has a libido sometimes?" asks Stiles. "What kind of answer is that?"

Derek doesn't say anything, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Okay, whatever, you can vet my dates. I'll make them call you, it'll be extremely weird, and I'll never get laid again."

"Tell them that I'm your brother," offers Derek.

"That's not going to help," promises Stiles, but it turns out that it kind of does. Who knew that having an overprotective brother was a turn on?

\---

Derek has set off the fire alarm again. Peter opens a window and wishes that either of them were less paranoid and could afford to take the battery out of the alarm just for an hour, because Derek always sets off the fire alarm when he cooks.

But Peter wishes for a lot of things that are out of reach, so instead he settles for snickering at Derek as he tries to balance on a chair and reach the fire alarm with a broom handle to shut it off. Derek glares at him, and Peter smiles.

"Need help?" he asks.

"No," says Derek, and wobbles on the chair as he manages to turn the alarm off. Peter reaches out to steady him, and Derek nearly falls as he flinches away. 

Derek would say that he doesn't appreciate _Peter_ touching him, but Peter knows that Derek goes in and out of liking casual touches in general. He's definitely out right now, though it won't last. Which reminds him.

"I think dinner's burning," says Peter, and Derek swears at him and goes back to cooking. Peter opens another window, just in case, then moves two chairs up to a counter so they can sit down to eat. They should really have a table, but installing a stove and a fridge was about all of the settling in Derek was willing to do.

Dinner tonight is just Peter and Derek - the trio of younger betas are out bowling, for some reason. Maybe because it was Derek's turn to make dinner, and Derek always makes burned spaghetti and meatballs. Peter thinks he should probably teach Derek to cook, but it's almost more fun to tease Derek about his lack of skills, so he keeps putting it off.

"Are you sure these are made of meat?" Peter asks, picking out one of the blackened meatballs that Derek served him. "You didn't start out with charcoal?"

Derek tosses a saltshaker at Peter's head, and Peter catches it. "Touchy," says Peter. "Hormones acting up?"

" _No_ ," says Derek, casting around for something else to throw. Peter carefully moves the tub of parmesan away from him.

"Then you're running late," says Peter.

"None of your business," says Derek.

"I think it is." Peter raises his eyebrows. "Unless you really want me in the den while you-"

"You could move out now," suggests Derek. "Save yourself some trouble. In fact, you could stay away for a while. Forever."

"Derek, I'm hurt." Peter presses a hand to his chest. "It's not that I want to leave you, it's just that I don't want to be around during your," he pauses, " _special time_." 

Here is something to be said for Derek's extremely limited range of expressions: he can manage a decent glare even while trying to bite his way through a rock-hard meatball. Peter tilts his head to one side, fascinated.

"Don't do that," says Derek, with his mouth full.

Peter shrugs, and pulls out his phone, flipping through his calendar. "I see that Stiles' spring break is coming up soon. Oh, and the rest of his friends, too."

Derek grunts and starts on another meatball. He's really not any fun at all.

"Should I pack a bag for then? Next week?"

Derek doesn't answer, but Peter doesn't really need him to.

\---

Erica walks down to the basement for training alone - Derek's already there, and Isaac and Boyd are on a grocery run. Derek uses up everything in the fridge every time he makes dinner, even though he always makes the same thing. Erica doesn't understand how it happens, and Derek has never given a simple answer to a simple question in his life. He just grunts and makes angry faces. Like the one he's making now, probably because Erica is thinking about mysterious groceries when she should be thinking about training. She ties her hair up, just to make it look like she's doing something.

"Wrestling tonight." Derek pulls off his shirt, which is good because he can't see Erica's expression when he's got half of his shirt over his head.

Erica's not great at wrestling, and that's probably why Derek makes her do it so much. She's faster than the rest of the Pack when she works at it, even faster than Peter and Derek, and she's meaner and can take a lot more punishment when her blood is up. But she hasn't got the raw strength and leverage that Derek or Boyd or even Isaac have, and she hasn't figured out the trick to wrestling without that.

After three minutes, Derek's got her wrists in a lock, and Erica knows he showed her a way to get out of this earlier but she's kind of forgotten, so that's going to get her in trouble. She's trying to decide if biting her way out will get her in even more trouble or if Derek will just admire her viciousness or whatever. But when she brushes her cheek over Derek's forearm, testing her own reach, Derek trembles. Erica's never seen Derek tremble.

She does it again. Derek doesn't tremble this time, but he doesn't say anything, either. And he's making angry face number three, the one that means that he's upset with himself about something. _And_ he's holding his hips up and away from Erica, even though it makes his hold on her weaker.

Erica narrows her eyes. She stopped making passes at Derek during training literally _years_ ago, because Derek had made it obvious that he wasn't interested, like, throwing her into a wall obvious. But this doesn't look disinterested.

"Hey," she says, carefully. "If I start making out with you, does that count as getting out of the hold?"

"Maybe we should take a break," says Derek, and lets go of her as he stands up. Erica tries not to be disappointed. If Derek doesn't want all up on this, then it's his loss, and Erica has a good thing going with Boyd and Isaac anyway, and-

And Derek's holding his hand out to her, to help her up from the floor.

"So," he says. "Do you want to make out here, or should we head upstairs?"

\---

Peter can smell a lot of adrenaline, sweat, and excitement coming from the training room, but that's pretty typical. Derek works the puppies hard.

"Derek," he says, as he opens the door, "Boyd and Isaac are back, but they forgot to buy milk-"

The scent of arousal hits Peter like a wave, and he actually wobbles as he tries to close the door as quickly as possible.

"Now you're early," he shouts, through the door.

Derek cackles at him. It's a terrible sound, especially since Derek is already rusty at laughing - his cackle isn't so much rusty as it is dissolving into filings. Peter takes a deep breath of the fresh(ish) air outside the training room, and composes himself. For all that he joked about it with Derek, he really, really does not want to be here right now.

"I'll be staying with a friend," he announces.

"You don't have any friends," shouts Erica. "You have dupes."

"Then I'll be staying with one of my dupes!"

Derek moans, and Peter takes the stairs up two at a time.

\---

Boyd watches Peter grab a bag and go, no explanation to him or Isaac.

"Something going on downstairs?" he asks, but Peter's already out of earshot, moving faster than he usually deigns to.

"We should probably check it out," says Isaac, and Boyd puts the ice cream in the freezer before leaving the rest of the groceries on the counter.

There's a crash from downstairs. Boyd hopes there's a good reason for that, because he's the one who's going to end up picking up all the free weights, he just knows.

Isaac chokes as they open the door to the training room. Erica giggles.

Derek probably has a good reason for having his head buried between Erica's legs, too. Boyd can think of about six good reasons right now, working from personal experience.

Erica's looking right at Boyd and Isaac, face bright with uncomplicated pleasure, and Boyd makes some kind of noise, completely involuntary. Derek looks up and back at them, and his face is _shiny_ from eating Erica out, and Isaac makes his own noise, the one that means his brain has just broken from hot.

Boyd completely expects Derek to yell at them for standing there, tell them to get out. He's not expecting Derek to beckon them over, but Boyd is always open to an opportunity like this.

He has to drag Isaac over with him, because Isaac is opening and closing his mouth without saying anything, so Boyd's pretty sure his brain is still broken.

(Derek and Erica did manage to knock over the weights, somehow, but picking them up is the least of Boyd's worries.)

\---

Stiles has a whole file on werewolves. It's full of stuff like 'no actual tails,' and 'werewolf hair grows mainly on face,' and 'wolfsbane way more effective than silver.' Kind of a mix between useful information and random factoids, but the distinction between Stiles' file and every other book he's ever read about werewolves is that everything in his file is _true_.

Here's another true fact about werewolves: they're assholes who don't answer their phones. Like, seriously? He tries Derek first, then Boyd, then Erica, then Isaac, nope, no one answers.

"Hi, Isaac," he says to the answering machine. "I'm going to be home in four days. You better not be doing anything fun without me. Remind Derek and the Pack that I'm coming home, and if they don't already know, ask them why they don't _answer their phones_. Or check their messages. Bye."

Stiles tosses the phone back onto his bed and picks up his laptop again. All he'd wanted was an excuse not to write this paper, but it looks like he's going to have to do it after all.

"They're probably in a big fight with vampires, or something," mumbles Stiles to himself. "You're well out of that, man."

\---

When each of their phones go off, one after the other, only Derek has the energy to sit up and try to find his. Isaac doesn't even move his head. 

"Is that going to be a regular part of the workout?" asks Erica.

"I don't know if I would survive it," says Boyd, "but I would die happy."

"Stiles called," says Derek.

"He probably wants to complain about his paper again," says Isaac. He's noticed that Derek didn't answer Erica's question, but he looks at Boyd and Boyd looks at Erica, and they silently decide to let it go.

"Can we cuddle?" asks Isaac instead, and he totally doesn't squeak at all when Derek grabs him from behind and pulls him up and into a hug.

(Maybe he squeaks a little, but Erica's laughter is uncalled for either way.)

\---

In the four years since Gerard died (since Chris helped kill his father), Chris has reached some kind of truce with Derek. That doesn't mean he's happy about it. That doesn't mean that he and Derek are _nice_ now. They've each lost family members, they've each been raised with this war, and neither of them can forget that.

But they share information, from time to time. Well. Derek calls it interrogation, when Chris has a question, and Chris calls it blackmail, when Derek wants to know something. It works for them, threats and all. It's not that Chris trusts Derek to help him, it's just that he can trust Derek to act like Derek, to put his Pack first and anything human second. He's predictable. And because he's predictable, they've developed a routine.

Chris is just getting into the swing of it, tonight. They're both parked in a lot on the outskirts of town, and Chris steps out of his car as Derek swings open the door to his. He rounds the Camaro as Derek gets out, so he can shove Derek back against it. Derek lets him, baring his still-human teeth.

"Why did half the town wake up last night because of wolf howls?" demands Chris. "Is this what you think is a low profile? There aren't any wolves in California."

"Maybe a couple wandered in," says Derek, quietly. Chris pushes him into the car again, getting in his face, breathing his air. He would be giving Derek bruises if he could really bruise.

"You're not the only one who can tell when he's being lied to," says Chris. "What is it? An Omega coming through? Are you hunting? If there's something else, some other threat, I need to know."

Derek's eyes have fallen shut, and Chris is practically plastered against him. Chris pushes himself back, a little guiltily. He knows that he tends to invade people's personal space when he gets angry, but usually Derek won't let him get this close, shoves back against him and _makes_ his own space.

Derek's hand snaps out, grabbing a fistful of Chris' shirt and reeling him back in, closing the distance, breaking the routine.

"Do you really want to know why we were howling?" asks Derek. He opens his eyes, and the pupils are blown wide, with just the tiniest ring of red. He pushes his thigh between Chris' and Chris carefully bites down on his own lip, takes a second to reframe this conversation and where it could end. A second stretches into five, and Derek is pulling back, looking away.

"Wait," says Chris, and leans further in. "Why don't you show me?"

Derek's hands clutch bruises into Chris' hips as Derek spins them around, pushes Chris against the car now. Chris undoes his flies as Derek sinks to his knees, and Chris smashes his elbow into the car door when Derek gets his mouth on him. There's an awkward moment where Chris is clutching his elbow and cursing while he thrusts into Derek's mouth, but then Derek is laughing, muffled by Chris' dick, and Chris chuckles too. Then moans. And then howls, reduced to noise and feeling and Derek Hale's fingers curled around his calf.

\---

Chris is driving away and Derek is trying to clean the gravel off of his knees when Peter calls. Derek answers, against his own better judgment.

"Didn't you learn your lesson after the first Argent?" asks Peter. Curious, not angry.

"I thought you were keeping away during my heat," says Derek.

"I am keeping away," says Peter. "But I also own a pair of binoculars, and you're in a parking lot. And you should probably tell your pups that you're in heat - Isaac asked me if I put aphrodisiacs in your pasta sauce."

"Don't call them my pups, that's creepy." Derek thinks about it for a second. "Also, the fact that Isaac thinks you would spike my dinner is creepy. And the fact that you were watching me blow Chris Argent is creepy."

"Derek," says Peter, complacently, "everything about me is creepy. Anyway, I only watched the part where you were talking."

"Did you call to be clever, or did you need to tell me something?" asks Derek. If he doesn't cut Peter off now, this could go on for a while.

There's a long pause. Derek _knows_ that the pause is calculated, that everything Peter does now is calculated, but it _feels_ like Peter is hesitating, caught off-guard.

"Just be careful," says Peter, "think about what you're doing," and hangs up.

Derek takes the phone away from his ear and throws it at the ground. He's always thinking about what he should do, and right now he doesn't have to, he can just give and take. That's the point of being in heat. Except Peter's advice could be familial and concerned, except Peter's advice could be poison.

Then Derek has to pick up his phone and check to make sure it's okay, and he remembers that Peter has a pair of binoculars and already thinks that Derek is overdramatic.

Fine. Screw Peter's _judgment_ and his _concern_. Maybe Derek shouldn't be fucking Chris Argent, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy his heat. Tomorrow he's going to go to a real human bar to pick up a real human who doesn't have a crossbow and isn't unhinged. Right after his doctor's appointment.

\---

Additional fact: asshole werewolves cannot answer their phones, but apparently they can text. Stiles picks up his phone when it starts buzzing, because he is almost done with the second draft of this paper and he hates it and he needs the distraction.

Three texts from Erica, which read  
"Ttly had sex w/Derek!"  
"Isaac helped. Also Boyd."  
"It was awesome."

"Unacceptable," says Stiles. "People aren't allowed to have awesome sex while I'm writing a paper. No."

Stiles realizes he's being unreasonable, because Scott and Allison are probably having sex right now and he doesn't resent them (much). But at least they have the courtesy not to text him about it. Scott got all of that out of his system back in high school.

"Congrats on your group sex" is what he texts back, though, because Stiles sometimes tries to be polite.

\---

Derek sits very still on the exam table, and opens his mouth for the thermometer without objecting. Alan checks his eyes while they wait, smiling when the flashlight makes Derek's eyes reflect back at him.

"No complications?" asks Alan. Usually he can't ask his patients any questions, so he might as well make the most of it. He takes the thermometer back so Derek can answer.

"Seems normal so far," says Derek.

"Your temperature is fine." Alan checks Derek's ears with the flashlight. "Tell me about what's changed over the past couple days."

"I don't know." Derek rubs one ear. "Everyone just seems more attractive than usual."

"Mhm." Alan walks around behind him, pulls up Derek's shirt. "Let me check your heart."

Derek flinches when the cold metal of the stethoscope touches his back. Alan leans into him, counting seconds and heartbeats.

"Breathe in," says Alan. "And out. Do you need any condoms? Gloves? Dental dams?"

"I'm good," says Derek. "Plenty of protection."

"Breathe in again," says Alan, in Derek's ear. "And out. Your heart rate is a little fast."

"Yeah," says Derek. "Can we, um- Do you-"

"Breathe in," says Alan, and listens to Derek's heart beat faster.

"Maybe you should observe me _during_ sex," says Derek, slowly. "Just in case."

"It would be highly unprofessional of me to have sex with a patient while I'm supposed to be working." Alan hangs the stethoscope around his neck, but keeps his hand under Derek's shirt, just stroking. Derek cranes his head around to look at him, and whatever he sees in Alan's face makes him smile.

"Fortunately," says Alan, "I'm closed for the night."

\---

Stiles' new fact about asshole werewolves that never pick up their phones is at least a little false, because Isaac picks up this time.

"Hi," says Stiles, "did you know that I come home in two days? Because I do, and you need to start planning my welcome back party. In the absence of Scott, you're in charge."

"Hi, Stiles," says Isaac. "Did you turn in your paper?"

" _Yes_ ," says Stiles. "No. I'm taking a study break. Is there going to be cake at the welcome back party?"

"I'll see what I can do," says Isaac, which means Stiles is getting nothing. Typical. Stiles really wishes that his spring break lined up with Scott's, because they would get this vacation done right. Ice cream cake every day, and- 

"Listen," says Isaac. "Derek's been acting kind of weird, and I'm- Hey! Fucking- Get away-" and there's a yelp and then Erica's on the phone.

"Hi, Stiles," she purrs. "How's your paper going?"

"I've only got two pages left to write." Stiles taps the space bar on his laptop a few times, not that it helps. "I'm turning it in tonight. Why do you guys keep bugging me about this?"

"I'm just excited for you to be done!" says Erica. "Because you _have_ to get home, you're totally missing out."

"I'm not interested in hearing more about your sexcapades, Erica. Write a letter to penthouse or something. 'Dear readers, I finally got my smoldering alpha to put out-'"

"You're hilarious, Stiles. It's more than that."

"Oh, yeah?" Stiles pulls up his werewolf file on his laptop. This is _way_ more interesting than his paper. "What is it, magic curse? Has he started speaking in pig Latin? I've heard-" 

"I think Derek found his sex drive," says Erica.

"Found it? Like, what, behind the couch cushions?"

"Stop being ridiculous, Stiles," says Erica. "We don't have a couch."

"I keep telling you to take a trip to Ikea," mutters Stiles, but Erica's talking over him.

"He was out all night yesterday, and when he got back he was smiling! And now he's gone to a bar."

Stiles considers this. "Okay? He's legal, and I guess people who can drink in public without shelling out for a fake ID do that sometimes?"

"Yeah, but werewolves can't get drunk." Erica pauses, like she's going to drop an amazing insight, but in the end all she comes up with is "Derek's cruising!"

"Cruising who?" asks Stiles. "All the hot people in Beacon Hills are in college, in the Pack, Hunters, or tragically killed by supernatural terrors. Who's left?"

"I'm pretty sure you're exaggerating," says Erica.

"Never," says Stiles, and he is kind of serious. Who would Derek want to _cruise_ , for God's sake?

\---

Bobby has this theory about coaching. You just have to be, you know, as inspirational as possible, and demand everything from your players, and then they, you know, play, and then you _win_. You just have to be _real_ enough, motivational enough, and keep pushing, and then your players start developing super-strength and super-speed and stop having asthma, and you get covered in glory.

Bobby can't remember if he came up with this theory while he was drunk or not. He's getting pretty close to drunk now, trying to explain his theory to Harris at the bar.

"So what you're trying to tell me," says Harris, slowly, "is that the speech from Independence Day cured McCall's asthma?"

"Gotta be," says Bobby, nodding vigorously. "I'm a hero."

Harris snorts in disgust, and Bobby looks around for a bartender, because maybe he's not actually that buzzed, not enough for hanging out with Adrian 'Joykill' Harris, anyway. He doesn't spot the bartender, but there's a guy five or seven seats down who's smiling at him. Him? Bobby Finstock? Bobby points a finger at himself, just to make sure, and the guy nods.

"What are you doing?" says Harris, and Bobby gets up.

"Just going to go talk to someone. See you later, Harris."

Smiling guy is pretty hot, all muscles and stubble and very white teeth. He looks kind of familiar.

"I haven't had you in class, have I?" asks Bobby. "Sorry, terrible introduction, but good to get out of the way, right? Just figure out the former student connection now, before it gets creepy."

"You're the lacrosse coach?" asks the guy. He's still smiling, miraculously. "I think you were hired after my time. I'm Derek." He holds out a hand, and Bobby takes it.

"Bobby. Mind if I sit?"

Derek gestures at the open seat next to him, and Bobby slides in.

"You're a lifesaver, by the way," says Bobby. "I don't think I could have stood another minute of Adrian Harris."

"That guy you were with?" Derek glances past Bobby. "He's watching us."

"Christ." Bobby runs a hand through his hair. "He's fine, the guy's fine, he's just intense and kind of unlikable."

Derek laughs, and the bartender comes by and they get a couple beers off of her, clink them together. 

"Now he's glaring at us," says Derek. "He's not your boyfriend, is he?"

"He should be so lucky," says Bobby. "We work together. At the high school."

"What do you teach?" asks Derek, and they talk about that for a little while. Derek doesn't know much about economics, but Bobby talks to people who don't know much about economics every day, and most of them don't care, either. At least Derek seems interested, nodding along and letting Bobby meander from supply and demand to Keynesianism to his theory of coaching. That last connection might be a bit tenuous, but that's okay, Derek's still nodding.

"You just have to be, you know, as inspirational as possible," says Bobby, and then Derek's eyes flick over him and Bobby looks up right into the spectacled disapproval of Adrian Harris.

"I'm heading home, since it's a school night," says Harris. "Coming?"

"I think I'll stick around for a while," says Bobby. He's pretty much sober at this point, after nursing the same quarter of a beer for thirty minutes of conversation. He can handle being a little sleep deprived at class, as long as he's not hungover.

"I'm your ride, Finstock," says Harris. "What are you going to do, walk?"

"Yeah, well, I only live about ten blocks away," says Bobby. "Walking is definitely an option."

Harris shakes his head and walks away. Bobby grins - he'd picked a bar close to his apartment just in case he needed to ditch Harris.

Derek is looking speculative.

"You know," he says, "I drove over here, and I think I've had a bit too much to drink. I don't know if I should drive home."

"What, really?" says Bobby, maybe a bit loudly, he's not so good at volume. "Because you look stone-cold sober, man, you could probably somersault a straight line-"

Derek's eyebrows draw together, and Bobby stops and thinks about it for a second.

"Or was that flirting?" he asks.

"I'm just going to kiss you," says Derek, and he does. He tastes like cheap beer and the bar's peanuts and probably lots of other things, Bobby can only concentrate on so much tasting when he's enthusiastically french-kissing another dude.

"Hey," says Bobby, when they break apart. "I live pretty close by."

"So I've heard," says Derek. He's smiling again.

"You want to come look at my etchings?" asks Bobby, and Derek's already pulling him to his feet and to the door.

He seems pretty surprised when they get to Bobby's apartment and there actually _are_ etchings, which, what, can't a guy have interests outside of economics and lacrosse? For one thing, Bobby is developing a pretty strong interest in Derek's washboard abs.

Derek seems less surprised by that.

\---

Apparently when you finally get a werewolf to talk to you on the phone, the new problem is getting them to stop.

"He didn't even come home last night!"

"Erica," says Stiles, trying to juggle two bags and his cell phone. "I'm getting on a plane. You can update me on Derek's suddenly-busy sex life when I see you tomorrow."

"I think I saw him leaving Coach Finstock's house," continues Erica, totally oblivious to Stiles' struggles and the unsympathetic looks he's getting from the flight crew.

"Good for Coach," says Stiles. "Now I am on the plane. Now I am hanging up on you."

"But Stiles! _Coach Finstock_ -" says Erica, but Stiles is hitting the 'end call' button.

"This is not the kind of weird supernatural behavior I was expecting," he says to himself, but the elderly lady sitting next to him thinks he was talking to her, and Stiles has to spend the next ten minutes explaining his phone conversation as vaguely as possible.

\---

Derek runs into Lydia on the way to getting his car from the bar where he left it overnight. Lydia's walking toward him on the sidewalk, and as she nears her eyes widen and then narrow, and her smirk grows large.

"Back for spring break?" asks Derek, trying to figure out what she's seen. Bobby bit his neck pretty hard, but there aren't any marks because werewolf superhealing is really convenient like that.

"Just for the week," she says. "You look like you've been busy."

Is it the shirt? It's the same one as yesterday, and it reeks of sex, but Lydia's basically human with a human's nose, and she didn't see him yesterday. He showered before he left, but maybe-

"It's your hair," says Lydia. "That is walk of shame hair if I've ever seen it. Also, Erica's been telling everyone."

"I'm not ashamed," says Derek, because he's not. That's one of the great things about being in heat - he doesn't feel any of the bad things that he doesn't have to but usually does anyway.

"Good," says Lydia, and she smiles, teeth gleaming. "Erica's been telling people that too."

Derek tilts his head to the left and Lydia tilts her head to the right, and they both say "do you want to-" at once, and Derek laughs. Lydia straightens up, startled.

"You don't usually-" she says.

"I'm doing a lot of things that I don't usually do," says Derek. "I'm getting my car. You want a ride somewhere?"

"Jackson and I are staying at Danny's apartment," says Lydia, and she takes Derek's arm and pulls him along. The feel of her skin on his is electrifying, and Derek isn't sure how he makes it to the car with Lydia's warmth along his side, how he makes it through the drive with Lydia's hand on his thigh, how he makes it to the door of the apartment building without kissing her.

Lydia smirks at him, totally and utterly in control, and they don't make it up the stairs. Not for a few minutes, anyway.

\---

Danny is eating eggs on toast when Lydia stumbles in, kissing a guy that isn't Jackson. Danny knows that it's one in the afternoon, but it's always time for breakfast food. And kissing strange men, apparently. Or, men that actually look really familiar, especially now that he's taking his shirt off-

"Wait," says Danny. "Isn't that Stiles' cousin?"

Lydia and man break apart so fast that Danny doesn't even see the moment of separation. One second they've got their mouths locked together, the next they're trying to look totally casual and like Lydia isn't halfway to losing her bra.

"What are you talking about?" Lydia flips her hair away from her face. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Jackson was hungover from the welcome-home party, so I called in sick," says Danny. "I might also be a little hungover. You're Miguel, right?"

Lydia covers her mouth and coughs unconvincingly. Miguel just glares at Danny.

"What's going on?" shouts Jackson, from the living room. He sounds a lot better than he had an hour ago, and Danny winces from the noise.

"I was going to have sex with Derek," Lydia shouts back, "but you guys are still here!"

"Is that supposed to be a problem?" shouts Jackson, and then Lydia goes into the living room to shout at him at a more unreasonable distance. Danny's friends are way too loud, but he's known that for years.

Which leaves Miguel (Derek?) staring at Danny and looking way too comfortable for a shirtless man in a near-stranger's apartment. Danny takes another bite of toast.

In theory, Lydia and Jackson are exclusive, have been since they got back together in high school. Danny isn't especially surprised that the theory isn't living up to the practice. It's a bit awkward that it's happening in his entry-way/kitchen, though.

"Nice place," says Miguel.

"Thanks," says Danny, and the rest of his sentence is automatic. "The rent's not cheap, but I think it's worth it."

"We're having a threesome!" shouts Lydia, from the living room.

Miguel starts toeing off his shoes, and his eyes go up and down Danny's body, _appraising_. Danny shivers. He's still holding his eggs and toast, but he doesn't want to accidentally break the moment by setting them down on the counter. Yeah. Awkward.

"Want to make it a foursome?" asks Miguel, quietly.

"I think I'm too gay to have sex with Lydia," says Danny. "And Jackson's really not my type."

Miguel nods, and starts undoing his jeans. "Look at it this way - you'd be having sex with me, while Jackson and Lydia happen to have sex with me at the same time."

Danny starts trying to figure out the logistics, he can't help himself. Miguel fucking Lydia while Jackson fucks Miguel and Miguel sucks Danny off. Miguel rimming Jackson while Jackson eats Lydia out, and Danny gives Miguel a handjob. Lydia - did Lydia pack a strap-on in her luggage? She could borrow one of Danny's dildos, and-

Miguel reaches over and takes Danny's toast. Watching him eat Danny's breakfast is probably the least erotic thing ever, because strawberries and chocolate and maybe pickles are sexy food, but dry toast and scrambled eggs are not sexy food. Danny's still transfixed by the snap of Miguel's teeth and the soft tear of the toast.

"What's taking so long?" demands Jackson. "I'm already naked!"

"Me too!" shouts Lydia.

"Okay if I join you?" asks Danny, voice cracking a little, and Miguel steps out of his jeans and he isn't wearing any underwear. He's also dropping bits of egg all over Danny's floor, but Danny discards that as totally irrelevant information. He discards his shirt, too.

\---

Stiles has a layover in Chicago. There's always a layover in Chicago, even if you're flying from Tampa to Boston, and since Stiles is going from Tampa to Beacon Hills, there's really no avoiding it. So he turns on his phone, and prepares to use up his phone's data plan.

He has a text message from Lydia. Probably plans for meeting up since they're both going to be home, right?

Yeah, no. It's a picture of Derek Hale's naked ass. Not that Stiles recognizes Derek's ass. He recognizes his back tattoo, okay. The tattoo.

Lydia's text says 'Gurl look at that body.'

"I hate you," says Stiles, because now he has that song stuck in his head. Also, Derek plus LMFAO is about the most terrible hilarious idea ever, and Stiles keeps having to stifle giggle fits. This is about the least appropriate thing that has ever happened to him during a plane trip, and then Stiles feels indignant for a while about that. He's never even had a chance at joining the mile high club.

(The next three texts from Lydia are even more inappropriate, because they have naked Jackson in them. Stiles didn't need to see that again.)

\---

This couch is the perfect size for three people, which means that Danny is sitting on the floor. He doesn't seem to mind, which is good, because Lydia wouldn't give up her place in this body pile for anything. Jackson is curled under her arms, and Derek's legs are tangled together with hers.

Lydia's trying to work out a mathematical function to describe the intensity of her orgasms. It should graph to a really pretty curve. She might try to sneak it into her next theoretical paper, see if anyone notices that the x-axis is labeled 'Time' and the y-axis is labeled 'Lydia Martin's Sexual Pleasure.'

"I should go home," says Derek, somewhere above her. "I've been gone for a while."

"You should shower." Lydia's voice sounds a little muffled, maybe because her face is pressed into the couch's armrest. It's too comfortable for her to move, so she just continues, muffled or no. "I can't send you back to Boyd like this."

"Boyd?" asks Derek.

"Like Erica or Isaac would care." Lydia flaps a hand. "Go. Shower."

"Fine, where's the bathroom?"

Lydia's not going to move. Jackson fell asleep about fifteen minutes ago, right after he accidentally kissed Danny when he meant to kiss Lydia, and then kissed Danny when he definitely meant to kiss Danny. Also he's trapped under Lydia. Lydia twists a little to see what Derek does, and catches him nudging Danny with his foot. 

"It's a small apartment, you can find it yourself," mumbles Danny. His eyes are closed, and he looks halfway to falling asleep on the floor.

"I just thought," says Derek carefully, "that I'm not the only one who needs a shower."

Danny's eyes snap open. "Are you saying I smell?"

"You stink, Danny," says Jackson. Lydia could swear that he's still asleep.

"You're fine," says Lydia. Danny's fine. He should stay right where he is, because his head is fuzzy and warm against her leg. "Ignore him."

"How big is your shower?" asks Derek.

Danny pries himself up from the floor, and holds out his hand. "Let's find out together, okay?"

"That doesn't make any sense," grumbles Lydia into the armrest. The couch is a lot lonelier now.

"It made perfect sense," says Jackson. Maybe he's not asleep after all. "Look, just let them have their shower sex, if they can still get it up."

"I wanted Danny to stay with us," says Lydia. She knows she gets demanding after sex. And during sex. And before, and- she's just demanding, it's one of her more attractive qualities.

"Lydia, he's too gay for us."

"Jackson, last time I checked, you were a guy."

Jackson huffs out a breath and stretches out underneath Lydia, jostling her around. Lydia's head falls from the armrest, and she tucks her face into Jackson's neck instead.

"I've come to realize," says Jackson, voice thrumming through his vocal cords, "that I'm not actually everyone's type. But don't tell Danny, he'd think I was giving up."

"Or growing up," says Lydia. There are actual shrieks coming from the bathroom, breathy and high-pitched. Lydia's pretty sure they're being made by Derek. "You just don't want to get off the couch and compete with an alpha."

"I just don't want to get off the couch," groans Jackson. "You realize I'm still hungover?"

Lydia grins and kisses Jackson as Danny and Derek clatter and fuck in the bathroom. It's kind of the best morning she's had all week.

\---

Ms. Morell is sitting in Derek's car when he comes out of Danny's building.

"This car was locked," Derek says, when he opens the door.

"Was it?" asks Morell. "Alan asked me to check on you. Still doing well?"

"I'm feeling really good," says Derek. Morell looks surprised, and Derek says "what?"

"I'm just glad," says Morell. "You don't seem happy very often."

Derek shrugs, starts the car. "Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?"

"You could leave me on Water Street and Fifteenth," Morell pauses as they pull out of the parking spot, then says, "Or..."

She trails off, and when Derek glances over he catches her looking at him. Her eyes are on his neck, and he can still feel beads of water gathering there, his hair dripping from Danny's shower. Derek's whole body heats up, like all of his nerves turning on at once. It's- it would be really tiring to feel like this all the time, but right now, it's the best he's ever felt.

"Red light," says Morell, and Derek hits the brakes.

"Or what?" he asks.

Morell looks away at last, smiling a little. "Or we drive out into the woods, park the car, and see if you want to share any of that happiness."

The light turns green, Derek stomps the accelerator, and Morell laughs in surprise as they speed out of town.

\---

When Stiles finally gets home after a solid day of flying, his first plan is to crash. He's not answering Erica's calls. He doesn't care about what's up with Derek. He's just going to give his dad a hug and get some sleep. Like, four days worth of sleep.

This plan is pretty much ruined the second Stiles walks into his kitchen and sees Peter 'Murdering Werezombie' Hale sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.

The noise Stiles makes is not human.

Peter raises an eyebrow and flips a page. "Hello, Stiles."

"What are you- How did- Does my dad know-"

"Did _you_ know that your father and I were acquaintances in high school?" asks Peter. "We were almost friends before the fire. When I told him that I needed a place to stay for a couple weeks, he was happy to rent me the spare bedroom."

"Is that happy as in actually happy, or 'happy' as in you threatened my dad with jugular removal and he was 'happy' to let you stay?" Stiles glances around the kitchen, looking for blood, but there isn't any. Not that anything would have necessarily happened in the kitchen.

"No threats were involved, Stiles." Peter has both eyebrows raised now, and he's not even pretending to read his paper. "Don't be so paranoid. You know your father is on shift right now."

"It's not paranoia when you're talking to a serial killer," mutters Stiles. Peter smiles at him, which never stops being creepy. "Look," continues Stiles, " _why_ are you in my house? Don't tell me you're the welcoming committee."

"Oh," says Peter, waving a hand, "Derek's in heat. I didn't want to make it awkward by hanging around."

Stiles thinks this over for a second. And then another second. "You know," he says, eventually, "sometimes when I'm at school I convince myself that I miss my old ridiculous life." He stops again, thinking.

"And?" prompts Peter.

"I can't decide if I miss it or not," says Stiles. "It's still ridiculous. Is that why Derek's been having sex with everyone?"

"More or less," says Peter. He picks up his newspaper again. "You should go ask him about it."

"I was going to take a nap," says Stiles. He doesn't really want to do anything that Peter wants him to do.

"Then do that," says Peter, amiably.

"And you'll just be sitting down here," says Stiles. "And my bedroom door doesn't have a working lock."

"Really?" Peter smoothes a crease in his paper. "I hadn't realized."

"I'm going to go visit Derek," says Stiles, and tries to walk as casually as possible while still leaving very, very fast.

"Have a nice time!" calls Peter after him.

\---

Isaac opens the door at the abandoned post office that the Pack calls a den. "I don't have any ice cream cake," he says.

"You're a terrible friend," says Stiles. "Hi, Stiles, nice to see you, Stiles, we've missed you desperately."

"We're lost without you, Stiles," says Isaac, with that weird deadpan that he uses for idly talking about killing people. "But we didn't buy you any cake."

"I'm not here for cake." Stiles pushes past Isaac and into the post office. "Where's Derek?"

"Oh." Isaac smirks. "You're not here for _cake_. He just got back. He's working out in the basement."

"Don't make that knowing face at me," says Stiles, already walking down the stairs. "I just want to check on him."

Whatever Isaac says in reply is lost as Stiles pulls open the door to the basement and quickly closes it after him. 

Derek is in the center of the room, stripped to the waist, doing one-handed push-ups slowly and carefully. He looks up as the door closes, but doesn't stop.

"Hey," says Stiles. "How's it going?"

"Welcome back," says Derek. There's a sheen of sweat along his shoulders. Stiles watches for a second before he remembers that he came here for a reason.

"So," he says. "Your uncle is staying at my house."

Derek grunts. "It's only temporary. I can make him move if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Nah," says Stiles. He'd thought about it on the ride over. "If he has to stay somewhere, I'd rather it was where the occupants of the house have access to firearms and handcuffs."

Derek grunts again, and switches hands.

"I was just curious," tries Stiles, "about why Peter couldn't stay here?"

"He doesn't really want to be around me right now," says Derek, and that seems to be it.

"Is it because you're in heat?" Derek stops doing push-ups, and Stiles hurries on. "Peter says you're in heat. And Erica and the rest of the Pack have been kind of," calling and gossiping about who you were banging, "making implications-"

Derek flips over and starts doing crunches. "They were probably telling the truth."

"But you're not-" Stiles waves an arm, which he hopes communicates the R-rated descriptions that he'd rather not say out loud. Derek just raises an eyebrow, and now there's a bead of sweat trailing from his jaw down to his neck, and wow, Stiles has totally lost his train of thought.

"Not what?" asks Derek. He's on crunch number billion, or whatever, and he's not even out of breath.

"Not-" Stiles has read a lot of werewolf porn, or supernatural erotica, or whatever the trendy label is these days. All for the sake of that werewolf fact-file, of course. And there's supposed to be a desperation that comes with heat, either manifesting as violent sexual aggressiveness, or begging sexual receptiveness. Right? It's a bit dirty and objectifying, but it's really hot and porny fiction doesn't hurt anyone. So when Erica started describing Derek's new-found libido, and Peter said the words 'in heat,' Stiles had developed certain expectations.

Derek doing his work out and looking totally normal does not fit those expectations. But Stiles can't figure out how to explain that without sounding insulting or just plain ignorant.

"Look," says Derek, after Stiles' babbling has moved from stutteringly incoherent to embarrassingly technical, "did you want to fuck?"

"Biologically, I'd think that there would be some signal like a true wolf's flagging-" Stiles stops, rewinds the conversation a bit. "What?"

"I'm in heat, you're here, let's have sex," says Derek. He seems to think that's all there is to say.

"Yeah, okay," says Stiles. "Wow, uh. Is that how you've been leading with everyone?"

"Usually I don't have to mention the heat thing when I ask someone if they want to fuck," says Derek.

"Aw," says Stiles. "You make me feel so special."

Derek snorts and rolls his eyes. He's not doing crunches anymore, just lying on the workout mat with his arms crossed behind his head and his shirt off. Stiles thinks that he could pick out every one of his muscles. He also really wants to touch, and that might actually be okay? For once? He steps closer, and Derek doesn't say anything when Stiles sits down next to him. When Stiles actually reaches out and runs his hand along Derek's stomach, Derek rumbles in his throat, but when Stiles starts to move away Derek shakes his head.

"This is nice," mumbles Derek. His eyes are closed, and Stiles is rubbing his belly. Stiles is pretty sure that he's fallen into the twilight zone.

"How's that heat working out for you?" he asks.

"It's nice too," says Derek. He turns a little more into Stiles' hand.

"Because," says Stiles, slowly, "and this is just from observation, I know, but usually you kind of give off a don't-touch-me-vibe. I don't think I've ever seen you going out with anyone, or even interested in anyone."

"Usually I'm not," says Derek. "Too much trouble, too many complications, and it doesn't seem worth it. But being in heat makes everything," Derek hesitates, and then says, "easier. Or simpler. It's like a vacation. The complications don't seem as important."

"Huh." Stiles isn't so great at that kind of personal calculation, but he can imagine how it works for Derek, that need for self-control and then the release of giving it up. "Do you go into heat often? Because I don't remember any weird increases in Derek booty before."

"Once a year, after I became an alpha." Derek's eyes slit open, and he looks up at Stiles. "But most of the people around me back then were underage, so I would go away for my heat. And then the last two years I just went away out of habit."

"Where would you go, Vegas?" asks Stiles, and Derek snorts, which isn't a _no_. 

"And do you really-" begins Stiles, and then Derek pushes up on his elbows and rolls upwards and over, shoving Stiles underneath him.

"I'm kind of done with the werewolf biology twenty questions," says Derek. "You never said if you wanted to fuck."

"Yes I did, I said yes." Stiles spreads his hands. "Duh."

Derek gets this kind of happy grin on his face, like his flirting grin Stiles coached him on way back when, all teeth with no threat. He kisses Stiles gently, and their noses bump into each other and Stiles' fingers tangle in Derek's hair and, yes, perfect, what a good idea.

"I'm glad you think so," says Derek, and Stiles has a moment of 'oh God werewolf mind powers' before he realizes that at some point they stopped kissing and he started babbling again.

"Yeah, good idea, let's do this," repeats Stiles. "But I'm totally not done with the twenty questions."

Derek shrugs and starts taking off his pants. Stiles is kind of distracted by that for a while, but what kind of man would he be if he didn't follow through on his threats?

"So, wait- You did Erica, Boyd, _and_ Isaac? No wonder Peter didn't want to be in the house. Den. Abandoned post office. Are you running out of weird abandoned things to live in?"

Derek ignores the important question at the end, and focuses on getting Stiles' shirt off instead. Stiles approves, but the problem with Stiles' brain is that it doesn't really turn off, and it also has a direct link to his mouth, so-

"Are you on a mission to make out with everyone in your pack? Because I don't know if Scott is going to be into that."

Derek tosses Stiles' shirt away and starts on his pants. "I guess we'll find out when he gets back from school," he mumbles. "Can I lick your neck?"

"Knock yourself out," says Stiles, and then shivers as Derek follows through. He's not biting or sucking or trying to make a hickey, he just laps at Stiles' neck like he's trying to memorize the taste of him. "But you can't seduce Scott, he and Allison take monogamy seriously."

Derek presses his nose into the crook of Stiles' neck and inhales. Stiles shivers again, and starts taking his own pants off, because Derek's gotten pretty into the neck licking and apparently forgotten that there are still clothes to be done away with.

"Could do them together," says Derek, half-muffled by Stiles' skin.

Stiles manages to undo the zipper, and pushes his jeans down. " _No,_ Derek, that is not how you monogamy-"

"It worked on Jackson and Lydia." Derek hooks a finger into the waistband of Stiles' boxers and starts tugging them down.

"Yeah, I heard." Stiles wriggles his way out of his boxers, and then they're both naked. Awesome. "Do you think I could get in on that, or do they only make exceptions for hot werewolves who propose kinky threesomes-"

"Foursomes," says Derek. He pushes himself away from Stiles and starts rummaging through his own discarded jeans for something.

"Foursome?"

"Yeah. Danny still thinks my name is Miguel, thanks for that."

Stiles takes a second to consider Danny, Jackson, Derek and Lydia all in one place, probably naked. He's not sure the world could take that much combined hotness and snark.

"How did you not spontaneously combust from awesomeness?" he asks.

Derek rolls his eyes and holds up a condom and a little thing of lube. "If I ride you, will you shut up for a while?"

Stiles swallows, hard. "Full disclosure, probably not," he says, and his voice sounds kind of rough, even to himself. "But I think we should do it anyway."

Derek doesn't look very surprised, but that is totally okay, because the next thing he does is pour lube on his fingers and start working himself open.

"Oh my God," says Stiles. Derek already has himself up to two fingers. "Oh my God?"

"Was that supposed to be a question?" Derek grits it out while trying to twist and reach deeper.

"Can I? I mean, my fingers are longer-"

Derek tosses the lube at him, and Stiles sits up to catch it. He gets some on his fingers and also some on the workout mat because his aim is bad. Stiles is never going to do exercises down here with the Pack again, he wouldn't be able to look any of them in the eye if they slipped. And then Derek grabs his wrist, leans back, and guides him to his hole. Stiles carefully fingers his way around until he finds the spot that makes Derek growl and tighten his hold on Stiles' wrist.

"Prostate!" says Stiles, triumphant. Derek rolls his eyes at him, but then his eyes slide shut as Stiles starts finger-fucking him in earnest, so Stiles is calling that a win.

"Lydia, Danny, Jackson, Erica, Isaac, Boyd," says Stiles. "And Coach?"

"I really like his hair," says Derek. "It's good for pulling on."

"Not my question, gross," says Stiles.

"You can add another finger," says Derek.

"Also not my question," says Stiles, but he adds the finger. Derek clenches around him, relaxes, and then clenches again as Stiles spreads his fingers and bumps up against his prostate again.

"Then what was the question?" asks Derek. He sounds a bit breathless now, and Stiles takes a second to feel proud of himself.

"I'm just trying to compile a list of your conquests, dude," says Stiles. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"You left off Doctor Deaton and Ms Morell," says Derek. "And Chris Argent."

"You did Allison's _dad_?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a dad," says Derek.

"Not the point," says Stiles. "Do you want to do my dad? Be honest. Also, you feel pretty loose right now, what do you think?"

Derek puts a hand on Stiles' chest and pushes him back down onto the mat. Stiles' fingers slip out of Derek, and Derek straddles him, hand still on Stiles' chest for balance. Derek watches him closely as Stiles fumbles for the condom, then fumbles to get it on with Derek pinning him down.

"I think," says Derek, at last, as he sinks down on Stiles' cock, "that this is a weird conversation to have while I'm fucking you."

Stiles tries to reply twice, but it gets lost in moans and trying not to thrust before Derek is ready. He gets it the third time, though. "Look, I'm completely comfortable in my father-son relationship. I know my dad's a silver fox. I'd actually be kind of insulted if you didn't want to have sex with my dad."

" _Weird_ , Stilinski," says Derek. He rises up and lets himself fall back down, almost experimentally, and Stiles can't help but snap his hips up as he does it. Derek groans, and his hand flexes on Stiles' chest.

"You would totally do my dad," says Stiles, and pushes his hips up again. Derek rolls forward with the movement, rising up a little and hitting a better angle, apparently, because his groan is louder this time. His other hand lands on Stiles' shoulder.

"I love it," says Derek. He starts a rhythm, rising up and sinking down, and all Stiles has to do is match it, thrusting as Derek comes down.

"What, this?" says Stiles. "Yeah, I am kind of a sex god."

Derek grins, and stops moving. His hands are pinning Stiles down, and Stiles whines as he tries to thrust and can't get any deeper than he already is.

"Not this," says Derek. "Or not just this. There are so many gorgeous, clever, strong people around me, and right now I want _all_ of them, and I love it."

"Oh, fuck," says Stiles, and gets a hand on Derek's dick. Derek groans again as Stiles strokes him, starts moving again too. "Keep talking," says Stiles.

"Did you know," says Derek, leaning forward, "did you know that Erica laughs when she comes? And Jackson becomes a halfway decent person when you're sucking his cock? And Boyd's hands have calluses in all of the right places, _Stiles_ -"

Stiles jerks up, all out of rhythm, coming way earlier than he had hoped but honestly later than he had expected. 

"Sorry," he gasps, but Derek is shaking his head. He grinds down on Stiles' softening cock and covers Stiles' hand on his own dick, helping Stiles jerk him off. It only takes a few more seconds, and then Derek is coming all over stiles' stomach.

"Holy shit," says Stiles, and Derek collapses next to him on the workout mat.

They can only lie there for a minute, and then Stiles has to deal with the condom, and he makes noises about finding a towel or something before Derek just drags him back down and licks the come off of his skin.

"How much longer does a heat last?" asks Stiles. He still hasn't asked anywhere near twenty questions.

"A few more days, definitely," says Derek. "A week or two, maybe."

"Do you-" begins Stiles, and then stops himself. But Derek is frowning at him, like he knew what Stiles was going to ask, so Stiles says it anyway. "Do you wish it could just keep going? You look so, I don't know, happy. Content. Debauched."

"Nah." Derek stretches out, feet and hands reaching out off the mat. "This is good, I like it. But I like the rest of the year, too, not having to deal with sex. One less thing to worry about. It's all good."

"Huh," says Stiles, and turns that over in his mind for a little while. "Huh. Hey, what about-"

Derek makes a weird noise that sounds like a snore. It is a snore. He has totally just fallen asleep.

"I'm going to go find a shower," says Stiles. "You realize that werewolf saliva doesn't actually have magical cleaning properties, right?"

He waits for a response for a while, but Derek is definitely asleep, so in the end Stiles just ruffles Derek's hair and then struggles back into his jeans before making the foray upstairs.

Erica and Boyd are upstairs now, Erica swinging her legs on top of the post office counter and Boyd sitting in a chair facing her. Isaac's nowhere to be seen.

"Does this place even have running water?" asks Stiles.

"There's a hose out back," says Boyd. Stiles wants to facepalm, but his palm is sticky and gross, so that's not going to happen.

"Have you told Derek that he's ridiculous?" he says, instead. "Have you told him that you want to live in a real house, with real utilities?"

"He's been too busy fucking the town," says Erica, sitting still. "I don't think he cares about utilities."

There's an edge to her voice that Stiles can't quite figure out. He looks at her, considering, then looks over at Boyd and catches him considering Erica too.

"Hey, don't try to slut-shame Derek," says Stiles, finally. "He's in heat. It's biological, also, not hurting anyone."

"Who's shaming?" says Erica. "There's no shame here. Envy, maybe."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. Boyd chuckles, like he's catching on, while Stiles is still floundering around for clues.

"Erica," he says, "I'd love to hear more about your betan envy for your fearless leader, but the hose and I have a date."

"You could wait to clean up," says Erica. She starts swinging her legs again, and she's not wearing shoes and her skirt is really really short, and Stiles can't help but follow the movement.

"Yeah," says Boyd. "You should stay. No point in getting clean just to get dirty again."

Erica swings her legs, and her skirt rides up, and, okay, no underwear, okay. Stiles looks up into Erica's smile and remembers to close his mouth.

"You don't have to be in heat to be horny," says Erica.

"Best spring break ever," breathes Stiles, and Boyd laughs again.

So maybe it's not the threesome Stiles had been thinking of, but it's probably the best possible threesome he could be having. Because Boyd and Erica both shirtless? Absolutely not to be missed.

\---

People are fucking upstairs, and Derek doesn't have the energy to get up and see if they want company. He doesn't really want to disturb them anyway - it sounds like they're having fun. He fumbles for his phone instead.

"Are you done yet?" asks Peter.

"No," says Derek. "And I think I started a sexual revolution."

"I'm pretty sure that happened before either of us was born," says Peter. "Unless your heat caused you to travel back in time and teach Alfred Kinsey about bisexuality. Just think, first you could kiss him, and then you could show him a picture of you making out with a woman."

Derek wrinkles his nose. He's not awake enough for this conversation. Which probably means he shouldn't have called. He just wanted to make sure Peter was in the loop and not murdering anyone out of boredom.

"No," says Derek. "Not _the_ sexual revolution. Just a sexual revolution. At the den."

"The betas are having sex with each other," translates Peter.

"With Stiles," says Derek.

"Oh, good, then he'll be out of the house for longer," says Peter. "Do you think he'll mind if I go through his luggage? I have a theory I'd like to confirm."

"Please don't," says Derek.

"Too late," hums Peter, and then there's a click and a lot of swearing. Derek waits patiently - Peter would say something if he was really in trouble, and Derek's still feeling too sleepy and blissed out to worry much.

"He's coated the latches in wolfsbane," says Peter.

"Good for him," says Derek.

"Did you need anything?" asks Peter, sounding nastier, less amused. "Or did you just call me to brag?"

"Why don't you like it when I'm in heat?" It's not what Derek meant to say, but he thinks it's why he called. "I don't remember you being like this when mom and dad were in heat. You never used to leave the den."

"I'd say something about you having taken the alpha rank from me," says Peter, "or something about not wanting to be in the way. But I think you've answered your own question."

"What?" asks Derek.

"Memories," says Peter. "You look a lot like my sister, this time of year. It's the smile, I think."

Peter hangs up, just as Derek drops the phone. And this would normally be the start of a really bad day.

Except Boyd is shouting something, and Derek spares a moment from his eternal aching loneliness to pay attention.

"Derek! Derek, Stiles and Erica have both come and are snuggling on the floor, and I still haven't got mine yet! Can you give me a hand?"

Derek pushes himself up. It's hard to hold on to unhappiness when he's in heat and there's people having sex upstairs.

"Just a minute," he calls.

If he smiles like his mother, maybe he should do it more often.

\---

Scott is having lunch with Allison when his phone buzzes. It's a text with a picture of Derek Hale's butt. He's been getting a lot of them lately, mostly from Erica, but this one is from Stiles. Scott squints at the picture, trying to figure out if there's a hidden message, but it's just a butt.

He looks up at Allison, who hasn't told him that he's being rude because she's also messing with her phone.

"Have you been getting any weird texts this week?" he asks.

"What," she says, "the ones about Derek?"

"Yeah," says Scott. "Like, I just got this from Stiles-"

"Stiles didn't send _me_ anything," says Allison, and Scott passes her his phone before she can ask. Allison tilts the phone for the best angle, and wolf-whistles. Scott laughs at her (and also a little bit at the pun in his own head, but he's not going to try and explain that).

"I'm really glad we're going home soon," says Allison. "I feel like we're missing out."

Scott's phone buzzes again, and Allison opens the text. "It's another one from Erica," she says. "But the angle isn't as good."

Scott takes the phone back and squints at it. Allison's right.

"I'm glad we can share this as a couple," says Allison.

"Derek's butt?" asks Scott.

"No, an appreciation of the image of Derek's butt," says Allison. "I'm still holding out for sharing Derek's butt in person."

Scott's phone buzzes again.

"Woah," says Scott. "Boyd's cameraphone has way better definition."

This time Allison just leans over the table, and Scott turns his phone for her to look at, and kisses her nose when she leans in more. Sharing as a couple is pretty great.

\---

When Stiles gets back to school, he does some actual research about wolf heats. Real research, not the one-hand-down-the-pants kind he had done before.

Not that he doesn't think about feeling himself up, just a little, because werewolves figure in both of Stiles' most recent sexual experiences, and Stiles is totally not opposed to some flash-backs. But some of these websites are kind of creepy in the level of detail they spend on wolf sex. Informative, but creepy. Stiles does not want to look at any more pictures of wolves fucking.

_Anyway_ , you know what, some things do make sense now. Apparently Alphas are the only ones who go into heat? It's supposed to be alpha females, but apparently werewolves are just equal-opportunists like that. Derek even went into heat during the right time frame.

Other things don't make sense, and Stiles tries to puzzle them out for a minute before he gives up and decides to get his information straight from the source.

"Hey," says Stiles, when Derek picks up. "Says here that wolves are serially monogamous."

"Uhuh," says Derek.

"What you are doing is not monogamy, Derek. We've discussed this."

Derek grunts again. He sounds distracted. "I'm just being _very_ serial," he says. Now he sounds out of breath.

Stiles takes a second, putting two and two together. "Are you having sex _right now_?"

"Uhuh," says Derek.

"Oh god, no, I do not want to listen to this, next time please please please let it go to voice mail." Stiles holds the phone away from him, but he doesn't hang up. Derek makes some kind of sighing noise. Stiles inches the phone back to his ear.

"Who?" he asks.

"You really don't want to know," says Derek.

"I can handle it," says Stiles. He really can. He's a tough dude, and all of his friends are adults who can consent to having sex with Derek, as witnessed by the fact that almost all of them have. "Scott? Did you get to Scott? Is it my dad? Because he's supposed to be at work, and-"

"Derek," says _Melissa fucking McCall_ , quiet but still audible over the connection, "do you really need to be on the phone right now?"

"Sorry," says Derek.

The noise Stiles makes is like the tune of the death of the universe played on a keyboard made of the screaming tarnished souls of small children.

It's probably a good thing that Derek has already hung up on him. 

\---

People keep asking how Derek is doing, and what being in heat is like and everything, especially now that he's explained to Isaac that there's no such thing as sex pollen, and, yes, this really does happen to Derek every year. But really, Derek doesn't think much about being in heat. Spending his time thinking about it would be kind of missing the point. Just, generally, making out with people that you trust and kind of like is a good time. Also, fucking Chris Argent is a _really_ good time, so Derek figures there must be a special exception for older men who you absolutely don't trust or like, but who do have really great abs. Seriously, Derek gave Chris another blowjob and watching Chris' muscles work as he comes is Derek's new favorite thing.

When Derek tries to explain all this to Stiles, Stiles makes lots of noises about 'TMI' and 'I give in, question time is over, you've won.' But when Derek explains to Scott and Allison (minus the Chris part, Derek can be tactful) they give him high-fives and also a hand-job, so Derek thinks that he's on to something here.

And after another week the heat is over, and Derek goes back to worrying about his pack and what Peter is up to and how much trouble it is to get blood off of leather jackets. He really needs to find a good, discreet cleaning service, especially since the betas haven't figured out that you take the leather jacket off when things look like they're going to get serious.

He just doesn't have time to think about sex, or get involved with someone, or care that much about whether people find him attractive.

But that's fine. There's always next year.


End file.
